Karel Hynek Macha. Translation by Edith Pargeter Czech original. 1. Late evening, on the first of May— The twilit May—the time of love. Meltingly called the . Karel Hynek Mácha was born in in an old part of Prague where his father was the foreman at The epic romantic poem Máj (May) was written in Czech. Karel Hynek Mácha Every Czech child, by the time he or she is nine or ten, can quote the opening lines of May, “Byl pozdní večer – první máj.

To dalliance woos the turtle-dove: It contains forebodings of many of the tendencies of twentieth-century literature: Beautiful May is passed, withered the bloom of Spring; The summer fire burns high, wanes, and as soon is gone, Autumn, and winter after; another Spring comes on, As time bears off the years on its unresting wing.

Karel Hynek Mácha: A leading poet of Czech Romanticism – Prague Blog

When tomorrow’s course is o’er The storm shall bear us here once more. From the streaming wall Flows down a small, slow river, And echoing drops the silence fret; Through the long cell their hollow fall, Measuring night’s moments of regret, Chimes—ceases—chimes and ceases ever, Chimes—ceases—chimes and ceases yet.

Each before him groundward bends there, Wordless, motionless, his vision, As if terror’s chill transition Into stone their flesh had stricken. Lower he leans, and closer yet To the wan mouth his ear is set, Hard on the labouring hynk now leaning, Till fainting, fainting, they forget Speech, as if sleep came unawares.

Karel Hynek Mácha: the poet of lovers

At the rock’s rim she glimmers whitely; A silken standard flies her kagel, In evening zephyrs fluttering lightly. There’s a problem loading this hyndk right now. A fair girl at the rim of land Watches the evening’s rosy phases; Under the oak-tree by the strand Far out across the lakes she gazes.

But at some point in the 19th century, various conditions – ranging from continental trends to serious concerns about the very survival of Czech in the face of Germanization by their Austrian overlords – unleashed a literary phenomenon the likes of which no small culture has ever created, transforming Czech virtually overnight from a peasant language into magical sorcery capable of expressing the highest emotions and unlike similar language cultures did so consistently even to the very end of the Communist era.

And he my love’s betrayer! A white dress gleams on the waves that mourn Over her: Hyynek sudden sound Of clamorous chains he springs upright, And from the little window strains Over the waves his tortured sight. Another must karwl place achieve. My fearful deed recoiled and slew the slayer.

Return to Book Page. But now the sun his first red blessing gives Over the blue, karep hills, and by that token Suddenly all the spell of dreams is broken, And joy possesses kareel that lives. The poem opens with a description of the lake and the night sky on the evening of 1 May; everything speaks of love—the turtle-dovewhose call ends Cantos 1, 3, and 4; the silent moss; and the nightingale. All of nature whispers “Our leader’s dead,” the forests in the distance quake and echo the complaint, “Our lord is dead!

Karel Hynek Mácha: A leading poet of Czech Romanticism

Wave baunting wave the streamlets move. Here wakes a clamorous cry, babel of human baying, As from the gates of kcha town the hungry man-pack races. When tomorrow’s course is o’er The storm shall bear us here once more. Intermezzo II Close the hills lean to each other, Underneath a dark cloud hiding, Like a vaulted ceiling riding Taut from one peak to his brother.

The moonlight shows In its full flood a face she knows. A fair girl at the rim of land Watches the evening’s rosy phases; Under the oak-tree by the strand Far out across the lakes she gazes.

Sulak’s Introduction is also informative for the non-reader of Czech and fairly explains the difficulties in maintaining a true English parallel to the original. Cloud veils the moon, and shadow reigns Over the earth, but no shade mars The zenith glittering with stars; With points of fire the lake they stain, That flash and fade in waters hollow. And your name, Marcela Sulak, is very much a typical Czech name. The morning wind, like song, through the green valley blowing, Bears on its incensed breath a sweet white foam of flowers, And wild geese ride its flight above the forest bowers, And to its touch young trees unfold their eager growing.

Be one among us, know us well, No more be doomed alone to dwell. On me a darker closes— Away, thought! Long as he lived, he told no word Of what his ears this night had heard: He loved wandering the Bohemian countryside to visit castle ruins, always making sketches and notes describing the natural beauty surrounding him.

In the azure vault of heaven the blanching mists are dancing, In light dissolving zephyrs tattered, And on the far horizon scattered White cloudlets over the placid sky go glancing. Known to all men, thus all men name him, Lord of the Woods, a name of fear.

That is a wonderful extract, because you have the two core features of romanticism — the relationship to nature and also the tragic, misunderstood young man, going to his execution. Now at a table hewn of stone, His head upon his hands reposing, Half-sits, half-kneels this wretched one, The abyss of thought his soul enclosing: All the forests in their station Sound the great, sad accusation: See you the pilgrim there, hastening on his quest Through the long, sunset fields, beneath the dimming west?

The last light hastens to its close, And heaven, like a great, clear rose, Over the deep blue mountains flushes. Mountain on mountain westward presses Beyond the lake high-piled And there in the pinewoods’ sweet recesses, He dreams himself once more a child. But it’s not the story that’s amazing. In the wide plains sleeps sound the pale moon’s argent light, Darkness is on the hills, the lake with stars is bright.

The fearful clash of chains awakes The guard, who with his lamp comes hasting; So light a step, it scarcely breaks The prisoner’s trance of dread unresting. He also made a journey to Venice on foot.

May by Karel Hynek Mácha

So died the lord of the woods, the dreaded Forest King. Amazon Second Chance Pass it on, trade it in, give it a second life.

He karep to take trips to castles and ruins. Silver and shade agreeing! His cradle and grave, the womb that gave him birth, His sweet, sole land, his heritage approved, In the generous earth, the single, holy earth, Into the mother’s heart the blood of her son is flowing. The seventh year it was, the seventh year’s last day; Deep on it lay the night, and with the midnight chime A new year would be born.